


chocolate wings

by redpangur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, M/M, bless these dog boys, lupin is soft and smol, sirius is a dork for once, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 18:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpangur/pseuds/redpangur
Summary: On some level Sirius had known for years, but on another level he didn’t know at all until it practically gripped him by the throat one day in Charms.~~~~~~~~~~~~Sirius accidentally discovers a kink during charms class. (Spoiler alert: The kink is Remus.)





	chocolate wings

**Author's Note:**

> Absurdly, this one shot is not part of my longer series of Sirius/Remus one shots--it's its own little standalone story.

On some level Sirius had known for years, but on another level he didn’t know at all until it practically gripped him by the throat one day in Charms.

Levitation was a first-year spell, but Professor Flitwick was making them go back and learn basic hover and floating charms because the distinctions between them were supposedly important. They were all supposed to be practicing now, the classroom a pleasant hubbub of chatter and periodic whumps as objects fell out of the air. Sirius lazily made his textbook race in circles a few inches above his desk, wondering what he was supposed to be discovering about theory of magic. Next to him, James was having some trouble with the low-level spell, and Sirius thought that the Potters must have been less dismissive of the decree against underage magic. He remembered getting in trouble as a kid for hover-charming dishes to zoom wildly around the dinner table, Regulus looking on with delight. 

He heard Peter give a distinctive “Wingardium Leviosa” from behind him, followed by a small gasp. The class broke out into exclamations, and he turned to see Remus floating on his back—two, three, four feet above the class, pulled up as if by his hips. 

“ _Pettigrew_!” Professor Flitwick said sharply, cutting a path through the students toward them. Peter kept his wand raised, and everyone chattered in surprise and admiration, but Sirius saw that Remus was struggling in the air, his body stuttering up and down at intervals. He felt a hot surge of annoyance at Peter for going too far with whatever clever, funny thing he thought he was doing.

“Easy there, Wormtail,” James said quietly beside them. Peter swore, and Remus dropped sharply for a few inches, then floated upward again—Sirius impulsively scrambled up onto a desk.

“Good,” he was surprised to hear Flitwick say from behind him. “Mr. Lupin, I need you to relax.” Sirius glanced down to see the professor nudge Peter aside and gesture crisply with his wand. Another gasp from Remus—he still was struggling, but no longer rising. “ _Relax_ , please. Black, stay there—help him get down.” Remus went limp above him, clearly doing his best to obey their professor, and Sirius watched him carefully. He was floating down slowly now—he’d been somewhat curled up before, but now he was splayed out, his back arched, feet dangling, arms trailing. “Easy does it, Mr. Lupin.” 

Remus closed his eyes and let his head lean back, his hair falling away from his forehead, his neck exposed. Sirius felt his breath catch. It must have been that he was pissed with Peter, or maybe that he’d climbed the desk too fast. That was surely why Sirius could feel his heartbeat quicken as Remus floated closer. Sirius could see the whole length of his neck now, the hollows by his Adam’s apple, could tell he was trying to regulate his breathing. Remus’ slacks and sweater were too small—the same ones from last year—and Sirius could see how tense he was even as he leaned back as if in surrender. He was close enough now; Sirius reached out, catching him under his shoulders and thighs, and then Remus was settling in his arms. He lifted his head, wide-eyed, finding Sirius’ gaze and breathing his name, and Sirius went hot and cold while he pulled his friend into his chest.

“Good! Almost there,” Flitwick was saying from the ground—of course his spell was still supporting Remus, because he was light as a feather. Sirius tried to focus on finding the best way down, instead of on Remus’ breath on his neck, his body curled into his chest. He felt James’ guiding hand on his arm as he stepped onto a chair and then took an awkwardly long step to the ground. And then Remus was heavy, his arms dragging at Sirius’ neck, and there was a scramble of limbs and apologies as they separated.

“Alright, Mr. Lupin?” Flitwick asked. Remus nodded, clearly still shaken, and James put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Their professor seemed to shed his calm demeanor as he turned to Peter. Sirius registered Peter actually taking a step back from him in fear, knew that Flitwick was angrier than they’d ever seen him. He vaguely heard Flitwick lecturing about how Wingardium Leviosa was for objects only, that you could accidentally levitate a single organ instead of a whole person, but he could hardly even keep track of how many points were coming from Gryffindor—it was like all his senses were tunneled. He stood there dully while the class whispered around him, feeling shivery and overwhelmed.

The thing was, he knew exactly what he was feeling. He knew exactly why he kept having to chase away the image of Remus’ arched length, why he kept remembering how he’d whispered his name. It definitely, absolutely shouldn’t be happening here, shouldn’t be happening so quickly, shouldn’t be about Remus. James jostled him, saying something appreciative, and Sirius pieced together that he must have earned a few points back for helping. “No need to blush about it,” James added. Sirius tried forcibly to shut his body up and be cool. He realized that Remus was looking at him intently. “You ok?” he mouthed. The curve of his neck—he’d been so vulnerable and so expectant, waiting.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Sirius announced too loudly. And then he fled the scene.

 

~~~

Sirius tried to gather himself together, to mentally take a cold shower. He thought about turnoffs while he stood at the bathroom sink: Chalk. Mrs. Norris. Coffee dates. He tried briefly to think of Remus-specific turnoffs, too—how he guilted Sirius into turning in essays and being nicer to underclassmen, the way he’d get them to tone down all their best plans for mischief, that one time he’d fallen asleep on his astronomy notes and spent the rest of the day with a model of the solar system imprinted on his cheek. But that strategy backfired. He was clearly in a state that wasn’t to be trusted, to think that all that was actually pretty cute. He dragged his mind forcibly back to chalk. 

By lunch, he figured he was over it. He slid onto the bench next to James in the Great Hall, flicked his wavy dark hair out of his face and saw a girl in Ravenclaw look away a bit too quickly, and he knew he was back, returned to his normal existence as the confident, cool one. But then he realized that Remus was stealing glances at him from across the table, looking worried, or puzzled—he couldn’t figure it out—and suddenly he couldn’t even retell that great story from last weekend’s date. He grabbed some biscuits and gravy and pretended to be _really_ into them so he wouldn’t have to talk. Things took a turn for the ludicrously worse when Peter found some old Ice Pops from Honeydukes in his bag. Because there was no god—or because there was one—Remus took one and sucked on it absentmindedly for the rest of lunch. It wasn’t Sirius’ _thing_ or anything, but it was still enough to derail his thought process every time he heard it click behind Remus’ teeth. 

At some point, Sirius realized that the universe was outright breaking the fourth wall to ruin him. He’d been talking up how good the gravy was today, just to have something to say, and Remus took him at his word. Without asking, he leaned over the table, Ice Pop still dangling from his left hand, and ran his index finger through the sauce on the edge of Sirius’ plate. Their eyes met just before Remus touched his finger to his tongue. Sirius felt himself go red, and Remus’ eyebrows shot up behind his bangs. 

“You ok, mate?” James asked as Remus sunk back into his seat, finger still in his mouth. Sirius tried to think of something clever but ended up just saying “yup” in a weird, drawn-out way. “Is the gravy actually that good?” 

“Not really,” Remus said bemusedly.

“Huh,” Sirius added. Uselessly. The problem, he was realizing, was that _Remus_ was his thing.

 

~~~

For Sirius, the bluntest way was usually the best. It was something he was always trying to convince James of—James would twist himself into knots trying to politely decline invitations, whereas Sirius would just say no if he didn’t want to go. Or, if the invite was from a first-year or a Slytherin, “That sounds lame.” So he liked to speak his mind, and he felt at a loss when he encountered things he just couldn’t say. For example, he couldn’t turn to Remus and say: “Hey, best friend and normal person. Sorry about what happened in Charms today. It’s just that I am deeply aroused by your prone body.” 

He figured he’d have some time to sort out his head, to at least get his body in check, but then it turned out that one of the things he’d missed in his erotic fog had been Flitwick giving Peter detention that night. James, of course, had Quidditch practice, but the _coup de grace_ was that Remus, for once in his overachieving life, decided not to go to the library after class. 

They hung out in the common room once Peter and James left, Sirius trying to figure out what it is he normally _did_ when they hung out like this. Remus was just sitting there, his back against the sofa arm, feet pushed under Sirius’ right thigh, scratching away at some parchment like nothing at all was weird. Sirius didn’t know what to do with his hands. He put them on his knees and stared into the fire for a bit. Then he crossed his arms, messed up his hair, fixed it, accidentally put a hand back down onto Remus’ ankle—jumped a bit and grabbed his potions textbook out of desperation. Remus looked up at him, his brown eyes quizzical, quill pushing at his lower lip.

“Did you hear the Charms homework, by the way?” he asked. Sirius cleared his throat.

“Must’ve missed it somehow.”

“It’s an essay about the differences between the three levitation spells, and what they say about charms theory—hold on, lemmie find the prompt.” Sirius briefly imagined turning in the dissertation his mind had already written on his friend’s levitating body. Remus grabbed a piece of parchment from his bag and leaned over to drop it on Sirius’ potions textbook. He put his head on his knees, reading the prompt to himself again. “I imagine it has something to do with the levitation mechanic. Whether it’s pushing the object up, or pulling it, or manipulating its weight.”

“Hmm.” Sirius thought vaguely that Remus’ face, close up like this, was good. He couldn’t figure out if his hair was brown or dirty blonde. But his eyelashes were definitely brown.

“It might actually help to get more practice in on the three different charms,” Remus continued absentmindedly. Sirius’ heart jumped to his throat.

“You know what?” he said impulsively. “I’m going to bed.” Remus cocked his head.

“It’s seven thirty.”

“Well you know what they say—early to—to riser.” He stood up and shoved his potions book back in his bag, leaving Remus’ carefully notated essay prompt on the couch.

“Huh?”

“That’s it,” he concluded nonsensically. “Night!” He practically ran up the stairs.

 

~~~

Sirius had just finished composing himself on his bed, arms crossed over his chest, in the way he imagined vampires did in their coffins, when the door creaked and Remus came softly in.

“Hey,” he said, laying his bag on top of his trunk and sitting on the edge of his own bed across the room. “We should talk.”

“About what?” Sirius asked weakly. Remus raised his eyebrows.

“About why you’ve been acting like a lunatic since Charms?” Sirius got up, trying to think of what on earth to say, and then settled into the desk chair by the window. He put his feet on one of the poles of Remus’ four-poster and tipped his chair back, trying to reclaim his identity as Gryffindor’s coolest customer. Girls didn’t do this to him, didn’t make him feel flustered and out of control and useless. He’d always figured he was just immune, a gryphon soaring above hormones.

“Sure,” he said with an affected nonchalance. Actually, there was one thing that it would be nice to get out there. “Do you ever think Peter’s just—too much?”

“How?”

“I dunno. Too scared, but then also too eager. Like he doesn’t know where the line is. He does way too much to please us.” Remus bit the inside of his cheek, considering.

“He really looks up to you and James, you know.”

“Oh I know.”

“So he tries really hard.” Remus said thoughtfully. “To keep you liking him. A lot like me, really, with class.” Sirius shook his head.

“There’s a difference. Between trying too hard and going too far.” He realized he was doing a bad job of putting this into words. It had been bugging him for a while, the way Peter could suddenly get almost cruel. Never with him or James, but with people he thought he and James disliked. “Why’d he try to levitate you anyway?”

“Um.” Remus fiddled with his shirt collar. “I was just telling him why Levicorpus wasn’t part of the assignment. It’s pretty interesting, actually—Levicorpus is safe to use on people, and that makes it fundamentally different on a mechanical level.” Sirius felt his lip twitch in derision.

“And _then_ he levitated you with the wrong spell?”

“Yeah.” Remus shrugged. “I _was_ kind of pratting on about charms theory.” Sirius made an angry noise in this throat.

“Bullshit. I’ll kill him.”

“Look.” Remus seemed alarmed, held up a pacifying hand. “He probably didn’t think it was that different from everyone levicorpusing everyone else in the hallway every five minutes.”

“Last I heard Levicorpus doesn’t pull your organs out of place,” Sirius answered swiftly.

“Well.” Remus bit his cheek again. “It’s not like he’s the only one who’s had a practical joke go too far.” Sirius let the front feet of his chair hit the floor loudly.

“Fine,” he growled, mentally admitting what a hypocrite he was. 

“So that’s what you were acting weird about?” Remus asked. For a moment Sirius saw a light at the end of the tunnel, thought they’d be able to get safely out of this conversation.

“Yup. Definitely the Peter thing.”

“Because I thought it had something to do with you rescuing me.” Sirius looked away, actually felt himself go crimson. One time a girl in sixth-year had spent their whole date pointedly eating strawberries dipped in chocolate before giving him a hand job behind the Hog’s Head, and he hadn’t felt this way. 

“You’re not wrong,” Sirius admitted roughly, staring at the trunk at the end of James’ bed. He liked getting things out there, would rather just talk about something than have it kicking around embarrassingly in his brain. But then this secret was so, so deadly. At least if he got ostracized from the friend group, exiled to hanging out with McClaggen and Andrews and talking all day about Quidditch and who they’d date if they _had_ to date a Slytherin, he wouldn’t have to deal with Peter.

“So?” Remus prompted. “What was it that freaked you out?” Why was he so insistent about this? 

“You really wanna know?” Sirius asked James’ trunk.

“Yes.” Sirius pulled his hair in front of his eye, then pushed it back again.

“Um.” He made several false starts before landing on: “The way you were hanging there. In the air. It was kind of—I dunno.” Why was this the hardest thing he’d ever said? He sealed his doom: “I liked it.” He glanced over to Remus, saw that he was looking down, fiddling with his shirt collar again, running his fingers above and under it. Then his friend swung around on the bed, shoes against the wall, and pushed with his legs until he draped off of the mattress from the chest up. He caught Sirius’ eye, his head upside down, his shirt front more open than it had been in class.

“So like this?”

It was objectively nothing. Sirius had seen Remus vulnerable in this way, some part of him dangling off a bed or hanging from a broomstick or laughing in surprise when he’d woken up in a tree after the full moon ended, plenty of times. In fact, he had most of them catalogued carefully in his memory. Except this time Remus was doing it _for_ him, teasing him, knowing he could elicit a reaction. Sirius felt his pants tighten—what an utter, traitorous mess his body was.

“You’re blushing again,” Remus said in wonder, flipping back upright. Yes, _blushing_. That was the most extreme part of his reaction. Sirius tried to think of something to say, some way to steer this conversation away from the rocks.

“Do you hate it?” Sirius asked, his breath too quick. 

“No.” Remus pulled on his bottom lip. “It’s…interesting. Is it something you do with girls? Like an association you have?” Sirius gave a small, derisive laugh. How sweet, for him to try to make it normal.

“No.” Remus looked at him intently, like he was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Sirius realized he didn’t want to see where this conversation would go, didn’t want to lose his best friend tonight.

“So I mean, logically, we could figure out what’s eliciting it—” Remus spun around again, pushed against the wall for longer, more slowly this time, his hips raking along the sheets, until his head almost touched the floor. “Is this any diff—” Sirius was standing now; he picked his friend up by the shoulders and dragged him up. He dropped him a bit too roughly on the length of the bed, one knee wedged into his side, the other foot on the ground—Remus’ eyes were wide as Sirius leaned over him.

“I’m going to bed,” Sirius growled. He picked Remus up one more time, dragging him higher so that he was closer to his pillow—he could see Remus’ chest rise and fall with surprise—then spun off of him and into his own bed, dragging the curtains closed and dimming the lights his wand. “Goodnight.” And that was it.

For a few minutes, Sirius lay miserably in his bed, his pants way, way too tight, imagining all the great conversations he was going to have with his new best friends McClaggen and Andrews, who thought wearing dress robes was “too gay.” Then he heard the curtains part, felt Remus sit tentatively on his bed.

“Hey,” Remus said. “I have an idea.”

“What?” Sirius ground out, trying to sound as uninviting as possible.

“Let’s not overthink this.” And then he felt Remus’ hand on his shirtfront, pulling him up so they were sitting facing one another. Sirius stilled in surprise as Remus leaned closer, breathing on his cheek for a moment before he gave him a small kiss. Sirius reached wonderingly for the back of his friend’s neck, ghosting his fingers lightly over his skin. He touched his forehead to Remus’, traded soft, tentative kisses. And then he pulled him in roughly, and they were kissing in earnest. He trailed a hand down his neck, felt the line of his teeth with his tongue—but most exquisitely of all, he felt Remus matching him, pushing back against him with equal strength, his kisses open and needy. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed his friend by the thighs and pulled him into his lap—Remus made a noise in his throat that thrilled through Sirius’ whole body. He pressed a sloppy kiss to his neck, right where he’d always wanted to, and felt his dick actually throb. Remus shifted closer to him, his knees on either side of his chest, and took his face in his hands. Sirius wanted to bite something—his lip, his shoulder, but he forced himself to pause.

“Are you sure this is ok?” he asked, his voice strangely dark. Remus gave a kind of shivering laugh.

“Yes. It’s ok.” Sirius tried to study his face in the darkness.

“I’m not like a secret girl or anything.”

“Thank god,” Remus whispered. And then they were kissing again, Remus pulling at his collar, his hair, his teeth gently grazing his lower lip. Sirius didn’t know it could be like this—couldn’t believe it was actually happening, kept being afraid that he was pushing too hard, asking for too much, and then finding Remus pushing back. “Can you,” he asked breathily while Sirius ran his tongue along his throat, “can you do that thing again?”

“What thing?” He traced his collarbone.

“The thing you did before, when I was hanging off the bed.” Sirius’ eyes widened as it clicked into place. Then he picked him up by the thighs again and nearly threw him back on the mattress. Remus actually whimpered, looking up at him, and Sirius’ stomach clenched with desire. He stretched out over him, kissing down his neck until he had to pull buttons apart to reach his chest, Remus making obscene noises deep in his throat. When he reached his stomach, he picked him up by the hips and tugged at his belt loop to suck at the hollows just next to his hipbones, trying to ignore the very distinctive erection in Remus’ too-small slacks, not knowing how far to go. He lowered him gently and looked up; Remus’ head was turned to the side, his eyes closed, breathing ragged. Sirius was utterly ruined. He stretched out over him again, finally letting their hips touch, and Remus pressed into him. He opened his eyes, and Sirius kissed him gently.

“You are unequivocally,” he said into his mouth, “the sexiest person I’ve ever encountered.” Sirius laughed through a kiss. “Do you really want me?”

“God, Moony.” He slid up and down his hips, just once, feeling Remus straining through his slacks. “Yes.” Remus was looking up at him, his eyes wide, exposed from his neck down to his stomach—even in the semidarkness, Sirius could see a few red marks blooming just above his collarbone. “What do you want?” he asked him. Remus seemed to seriously consider it.

“I don’t know. Anything. Everything.” Sirius lowered himself to lick him gently under the jawline.

“I _actually_ want everything. So you’d better be more specific.” For the first time in his life, he heard Remus distinctively say, “Fuck.” And then Remus flipped them over, grinding against him, and Sirius thought he might actually be seeing stars. He felt Remus’ hands on his chest before he even realized he was unbuttoning his shirt—he yanked Remus’ shirt the rest of the way off, his mouth open against his. Remus pressed his hips harder, a hand trailing down to push against his waistband and then back to grip his butt—not hard enough—and then he crooked Sirius’ leg up by the thigh and they fell sideways, mouths still together, sometimes still kissing sloppily and sometimes just breathing into each other while things happened elsewhere.

Sirius couldn’t take this anymore—he reached down to ease open Remus’ pants, to finally have him in his hand. Remus whimpered his assent, bit him lightly on the shoulder, and then seemed to lose all control while Sirius ran his hand up and down his length. He pushed his briefs down so he could use his other hand to palm his balls, to press his fingers further back, almost into him, and he watched his best friend unravel in front of him. He was on his side, curling up and then stretching out, his breathing heavy, sometimes gripping Sirius’ hip with an intense pressure and sometimes seeming to lose all his strength. Sirius had the stray thought that he, the coolest customer in Gryffindor, might come just from seeing Remus like this—so vulnerable, reacting shudderingly to his every move. He forced himself to pull Remus off slowly, using his pre-cum in lieu of lubricant, even though his heart was skittering in his chest, his own dick aching for friction. Remus raggedly whispered his name—Sirius kissed him hungrily, pulling with a quicker rhythm, feeling himself spinning out of control—and then Remus came on their stomachs, moaning directly into his mouth. Sirius could hardly take it all in, his whole body electric—his _pants_ were still on and he was going to lose it. He watched Remus ride the high back down, his breathing slowing.

“God, Sirius.” 

“You’re exquisite. You’re like a painting,” Sirius told him nonsensically, still on the edge. Remus looked at him, smiled.

“Exactly the kind of dirty talk I’d expect from Gryffindor’s favorite bad boy.” Before Sirius could answer, Remus rolled on top of him, grinding harder than before, palming him through his pants. Sirius unraveled beneath him, seeing stars again. He tried to reel himself back in, to hold back, but he came right then with a kind of shuddering ecstasy he’d never felt before. He was utterly strung out—he cursed and then apologized nonsensically—his throat was sore but he hadn’t even realized he was making noise. 

Blissfully, Remus stayed on top of him while he calmed down. He didn’t say anything, just propped himself up on an elbow so he could brush Sirius’ damp hair carefully away from his face. Sirius thought about how Remus’ attention, the kind of laser focus he usually seemed to reserve for books and abstract ideas, was a precious and overwhelming thing to be the object of. It was painful when Remus finally rolled off him. He pulled his pants back on and crawled to the edge of the bed to grab Sirius’ wand from where he usually kept it on his trunk.

“You want me to—”

“I got it.” Remus gave the wand a few experimental flicks, then cast two perfectly competent cleaning spells on them.

“Fuck that’s impressive.” Remus looked at him wonderingly. “Sorry,” he added. “I’m a mess.” Remus sat cross-legged next to him, looking at him with an intensity that made him ache.

“What do you mean?” Sirius made a derisive noise in his throat.

“I didn’t even get our pants off. Didn’t do half the things I should’ve done.” Remus looked thoughtful.

“To be fair, you’ve been turned on since early afternoon.” Sirius breathed out a small laugh. “I’m the messy one. You’ve been playing the long game.”

“It’s been a lot longer than early afternoon,” he admitted. Remus was still looking at him so intently. “You’re like—I dunno—sex on legs sometimes.” 

“You’re like sex on legs _all_ the time,” he responded with perfect sincerity. Sirius groaned.

“You’re messing with me. You’re a superspy sent from Slytherin to expose how lame I am.” Remus’ nose wrinkled in amusement.

“I’m definitely not.”

“I thought I was better than everyone. Like I was above all the sex stuff because I didn’t feel that way about anyone I dated,” Sirius said, the words spilling out despite himself. “And now I just want you to fuck me into oblivion.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Remus said, serious again. Sirius wondered if it was possible to get aroused while you were still coming down from an orgasm. There was a noise on the stairs, and then their room door creaked open. “Oh no,” Remus breathed.

“Shit,” Sirius agreed. Footsteps dragged into the room, and Sirius impulsively pulled Remus down next to him, worried his shadow would be visible. The curtains were still closed around his bed, and the lights were low, so they at least had a chance to go unseen.

“Sirius? You in bed already?” James asked. Sirius put a hand over Remus’ mouth, gave it a few beats.

“Yeah,” he said finally, hoping he sounded groggy and not sexually sated. He heard James’ broomstick bang against a pole of his four-poster.

“It’s only eight-something, isn’t it? I can’t see anything—is Remus asleep too? I thought he wasn’t going to the library tonight.” Sirius kept his hand over Remus’ mouth, waited a few beats more, and then just groaned, hoping he would sound too sleepy to talk. Their way out was if James took a shower. He always took a shower right after Quidditch practice—surely the universe wouldn’t deny him this one thing, after it had conspired all day to destroy him.

Sirius saw a telltale glow from the corner of the room; he realized that James had spelled on the bathroom lights and relaxed into Remus with relief. The yellow glow disappeared again as the bathroom door swung closed, and moments later they heard the shower turn on. Sirius exhaled and took his hand off Remus’ mouth.

“We’re good—go get in bed,” he whispered urgently.

“Do you think a shower’s long enough?” Remus asked.

“For what?” Remus just looked at him, lips full from being bitten, his gaze insistent. “Are you crazy?” Sirius whispered in disbelief. “We’re lucky James hasn’t found us yet and run screaming.” 

“You’re the one doing the sexy manhandling thing,” Remus pouted.

“I will _drag_ you to your bed if I have to.”

“Good. Do it. And close the curtains.” Sirius nipped him on the throat, laughing at how demanding he was being.

“You fantasize for years about a guy _one_ time. And then he won’t leave you alone.”

“Don’t. Please,” Remus said earnestly. Sirius kicked the curtain aside, scooping him up. He wasn’t that strong, and Remus wasn’t that much smaller than him, but he managed to make it to his bed, dropping him heavily onto the mattress. Remus looked very, very happy about it.

“Am I going to have to start working out to keep up with your needs?” Remus pulled him down for a kiss.

“I swear I’ve heard him shower for half an hour before,” he whined. Sirius laughed.

“Goodnight, Moony.”

“This isn’t a weird dream, right?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know what to do?”

“I really didn’t.”

“You’re such a liar. Can we do this again? Somewhere else?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. The third-floor loo. The shrieking shack. The astronomy tower. Under the stands during Quidditch practice.”

“All of the above, please. Minus the shrieking shack. That’s just macabre.”

“You’re against the shrieking shack, but you’re ok with the third-floor loo?”

“I don’t transform into a wolf demon in the third-floor loo.”

“Fair point.” He was on top of him again, Remus’ hands in his hair. “Are you trying to stall me here?”

“No,” Remus said petulantly.

“Fine. Just until we hear the shower turn off.”


End file.
